


Metallic Letters in the Moonlight

by totallyinnocent



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Crack Fic, Inanimate Objects, Kinda, Marriage Proposal, One Shot, Oneshot, Other, crackfic, i dunno it made me laugh anyway, please read this you have no idea, um i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:00:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23909614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totallyinnocent/pseuds/totallyinnocent
Summary: Um so like Frank has an intimate relationship with Pansy.Yes, Pansy the guitar.I swear there's no smut, this is just a crackfic.Please read it.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Pansy, i mean like there isnt any smut its just frank being weird, i promise this is a joke please dont attack me
Kudos: 10





	Metallic Letters in the Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so so so so so sorry but please read this.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?”

Frank looks up and the three men. As though they didn’t tower over him enough already, he was draped over the armchair of the low worn sofa in the main area of the tour bus while they stood, dressed to impress on their night out on the town.

“Frank, it’s _New York_. How are you not going to go out?” Gerard asks, slightly exasperated. All three had been trying to pull him from the couch all day to join them, but Frank never budged.

He rubs his eyes in faux sleepiness. “I’m actually feeling kind of tired… all the thrashing from shows must be catching up to me, hm?” he jokes, desperately wanting them to accept he wasn’t going and leave.

Right when Gerard opens his mouth to spit out another vain attempt, Mikey clasps his arm and pulls him out of the van. He slams the door and Frank can make out the muffled shout of “He’s not coming” before Ray grabs his attention.

“You and I both know that’s bullshit, Frank. What’s actually going on?”

He’s cornered. Ray wasn’t one to let things go and would pay attention to every little detail about a person before he even knew their name. Living in a cramped van with Frank for a few months definitely gives him enough data and knowledge to know if he lied.

In reality, Ray was the only one Frank knew would be difficult to shake. Mikey would accept it and move on. If he didn’t have his brother and Ray with him, he would have been out hours ago probably making out with a drunk girl while equally drunk at this point. Gerard would have been easily dragged away by Mikey. It’s only because Ray is persistent that Gerard is persistent, he’s got hope that they’ll figure it out when someone sides with him.

Of course, Frank was blatantly lying. It didn’t take any high-class detective or lie detectors to see that. Frank just didn’t want to explain why he didn’t want to go out with them, knowing it would change their opinions of him.

Gerard and Mikey storm in, both looking equally annoyed for extremely different reasons.

Instead of the full lying approach, Frank bends the truth. “I’m just going to play guitar, that’s all.”

In Ray’s eyes, he could see Frank wasn’t lying to him anymore, but he still was anxious. Gerard, however, didn’t see the answer to be satisfactory.

“You play guitar every day! Why can’t you just take this one night to go out with us?!” he demands, confidence boosted with Ray siding with him.

Said confidence quickly fades as Ray pulls Gerard to the door where an annoyed Mikey stands, tapping away at his phone. Gerard tries to sputter out a last attempt to keep Ray fighting, but he’s just led outside. Mikey moves to leave with the two, but abruptly stops and turns to Frank.

“You could’ve just told us what you were actually doing. It would’ve saved a lot of time.”

The Way’s share their hazel eyes, but the difference between them is drastic. While Gerard’s are warm and honey-colored, only adding to his sweet persona, Mikey’s are an icy frozen slush. He practically shoots icicles in Frank’s direction, waiting for something to happen.

Frank clears his throat, praying it didn’t crack or croak from nervousness. “I’m just gonna spend time with Pansy, that’s all.”

It wasn’t uncommon for Frank to refer to his prized guitar as its own being, so Mikey left it at that and strode out of the van with a huff. Pansy is what Frank would call his first guitar. Not that the other guitars he’s owned aren’t guitars, but for the fact, he paid off Pansy in full completely on his own. All his others had been gifts or hand me downs or a combined assortment of people’s paychecks. Pansy was completely his.

As soon as the chatter outside faded, he hopped up from his comfy spot on the sofa. His mind was woozy and his body swayed at the sudden movement. How long did they take to leave? After shaking the feeling off, Frank popped open the door to the very back room where all the clothes were stored. As they were on their tour for Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge and Frank’s stage clothes happened to consist of tight slacks or jeans and white dress shirts, it wasn’t hard to find optimal date attire.

He wriggled into an especially tight pair of pants, calling back memories of the compliments he’d get when he wore this specific pair. Once he stripped himself of his shirt, Frank crouched down to shovel the mounds of smelly clothes away to reveal a fresh button-up sealed tightly in a bag. This day had been on Frank’s mind ever since they had first officiated tour dates. He’d come prepared. With a quick smudge of his eyeliner, he practically leaps out of the backroom and barrels towards his bunk.

He rips back the curtain and feels his heart lurch. There they are, in all their beauty, Pansy. The cream body lays in the propped open fur-lined case, reflecting the light exposed to it without the curtains protection. Each lopsided letter glimmered at Frank’s lustful gaze. The two needed no words, only each other.

“Oh, Pansy,” Frank practically moans, “You look so beautiful all dolled up for me.”

Delicately, he reaches across his bunk to the far side where the case rests and picks up the beauty by the neck, careful not to ding any of them on the edges. In a show, he and his love thrash around and break all regards to any gentleness. Pansy digs into his ribs, slams into his chest with a large force with every jump. Frank rubs the guitar all across the floor and the equipment, leaving what he calls “love marks” all over.

With a few small tugs, Frank has switched out Pansy’s frayed strap with a thicker new blue one, one he’d refrained from using all tour to give to his love on this very night. His other strap was hanging by a thread, basically on the verge of death. Frank never gave it a second thought once it was removed, too engrossed in the magnificent colors before him.

Pansy’s letters shone bright with the dim light, letting the polychromatic colors beam brightly up at him. Within the sheen was a blue, which connected the strap to the scheme, unlike the thin black one, which only drew focus on the overwhelming black and white of the body.

Before he lifts them up to wear across his chest, Frank softly kisses each fret until he reaches the stopping point. At the stopping point, he gives it a teasing lick and pulls the strap over his head and slips an arm through. Anyone normally would have slung it behind them to keep it out of their view or path when walking, not Frank. It seemed like an insult to put Pansy on his back without another thought. He let them rest in front of him, as you would if you were about to play.

Pansy had been polished earlier while his persistent bandmates were cleaning themselves up to enjoy the gracious free day. Frank also took that time to make a reservation. A reservation at The NoMad Restaurant, to be precise. One of the most romantic restaurants in the city. It showed rooms filled with deep luxurious colors on even more luxurious furniture. Only the best for his Pansy.

All of this was, of course, paid for with the band’s emergency funds card. It wasn’t as though he couldn’t pay for this himself, what with all the money rolling in from their albums, but it felt more efficient. He’d pay back the bill later.

The two make their way outside, Frank’s hand resting on the dip in Pansy’s figure. He walks them over to a busy avenue not too far from the van’s parking spot and waves his hand violently, trying to hail down a cab. When one does pull up, a smile etches on his face to see it’s a classic yellow one, as though he were in some sort of cheesy romantic movie. A sigh escapes his lips and he gazes down at Pansy. He supposed he _was_ in a romantic movie with how lucky he’d gotten.

When Frank hops in the backseat with his guitar still in his lap, dangerously close to scratching up the driver’s cab, the woman opens her mouth to speak. She and Frank glower at each other, but neither saying anything. Frank had somewhere to be. This woman had bills to pay. In unison, they break eye contact and recite basic dialogue.

“Where too?”

“The NoMad Restaurant.”

The woman presses her heel to the gas and opens her palm for the prepayment, not glancing back at Frank once. He slips half of the money he brought into her hand, storing the other half away for the drive back. The drive there is silent. Occasionally they’d meet eyes through the rearview, immediately breaking it and scoffing afterward. Discreetly, Frank rubbed his hands in the dips of Pansy’s neck and traced over each of their letters. He softly kisses each of the tuning keys one by one a few times over before he realizes the car has stopped.

He freezes, mouth barely an inch away from the fifth peg. At an agonizingly slow pace, he looks up, heart rate becoming twice its usual speed. The driver’s gaze is not trained on the mirror which would’ve been a relief if she hadn’t turned her upper body back in full to watch the display. Her face was what could only be described as a disgusted confusion. Frank peered back at her for a long while before bolting out of the car, grateful for the pre-pay system.

The line wrapped around the block leading to the restaurant. Luckily, Frank had pulled a few strings with the person who had booked his reservation, using his fame as leverage, and managed to snag a two-seater. While there were curses and pissed off attitudes from the people at the length of time they’d been waiting, Frank easily walked up to the front and pointed at his name on the list. Whoever had been cueing people into the building seemed offended at Frank’s lax attitude about being at the establishment. It was extravagant. Yet, he stayed neutral.

A young man in a tight uniform lightly guided Frank to the sectioned-off table. It wasn’t technically sectioned off from anything, but the intimacy of the decor left each table feeling as such. Plus, no one ever looked at any other tables, too engrossed by the decor or their food. It seemed way too elegant, and suddenly, Frank felt underdressed. Of course, Pansy looked stunning in the dim lighting, they always did.

There was one other thing Frank had planned for the date, a lovely stroll through a park. He’d play some of their favorite songs, despite them being electric, he loved to pluck without any speakers connected. Then take them to a beautiful spot upon a hill he had scoped out on a virtual map. Then, finally, he’d break out the true meaning of tonight… 

Frank set Pansy in the seat across from him, making sure they were secure before even daring to look at his own seat. When he finally did sit down, he picked up a large menu and skimmed over the options. It felt like someone was staring at him. Frank peered up over the top of the menu and grinned at Pansy, who sat there, gorgeous as ever. Such a fine establishment was sure to have pasta, which happened to be what Frank was in the mood for, so he set the menu aside and let his headrest in his hands. He propped his elbows up onto the table to get into a comfortable position to view Pansy, who still sat and gleamed back. Boy was he glad he took the time to shine them up.

The waiter that Frank had completely ignored scuttled over to him once again.

“Sir, you don’t have to put a placeholder in the seat. It’s reserved for you and your partner only.”

Frank shot a confused look at Pansy. “This _is_ my partner and they would like the Hamachi and Bitter greens to start us off as appetizers.”

The waiter stands there a moment, staring at Frank, notepad limp in hand, jaw slack. He finally lets his whole head swivel unsubtly to where Frank’s eyes had flickered and stared at Pansy in utter confusion. Frank nearly lets his jealousy show before the waiter is focused on him once more.

“Is this your way of saying you want to play for us tonight?”

That definitely wasn’t the argument Frank had been expecting. He’d been expecting laughter or mockery, but not this. “That’s not what I was going for, but…” He glances back at Pansy. “We’d be happy too.”

Clearly, the waiter was trying to convince himself that what he was seeing was only a humorous musician and not a crazed lunatic in love with an inanimate object, so he only smiles. “I’ll ask them to bring an amp over for you. They’ll be happy too since Sarah, our manager, loves your band. She had us move around all kinds of reservations just so you could get a table,” he chuckles, letting himself walk over to wherever the manager was.

Frank sheepishly looks over at Pansy, who says nothing, but that silence speaks more than words could.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know that people would have their plans changed because of me!” he exclaims, causing a few people to look over and give him confused looks. He let’s that be the signal he should lower his voice. “I promise. I thought they had the table already free.” Still nothing. “Don’t look at me like that!” he begs, giving his best puppy dog eyes.

He figured they wouldn’t budge. Pansy was loud when they were happy, but when they were angry you’ll get silence or blasting noise. This was one of those silent times.

“Fine, we’ll get it to-go, but only after the performance.”

That seemed to satisfy them, but if it didn’t, Frank would never know, for the waiter had come back with an especially eager woman carrying an amp.

The waiter from before still seemed uncomfortable to be in close proximity of whatever Frank and his guitar had going on, but kept a neutral front. “This is Sarah, the manager. She wanted to _personally_ bring you the amp and cord,” he adds with an eye roll.

That comment earns him a painful, obvious stomp on his foot, letting him release a loud yelp. “Right, I’m Sarah. I brought this over here if you’re comfortable playing while sitting.”

Her voice struck a chord with Frank, realizing it was the woman on the phone when he reserved his seating. “Here is fine. Pansy wants our food-to-go if that’s not too much trouble. We’re planning to leave right after I play.”

Sarah’s face slowly morphs from disappointment to confusion. “Pansy, as in, _guitar_ Pansy?”

Frank grins widely, lip ring protruding out from beneath his top lip. “Yeah, guitar Pansy.”

“Okay then.” Her brow is still furrowed in concern but her mouth matches Frank’s now, counteracting her other features.

She utters something about a chord for Pansy, making the waiter hurry off without a word. Sarah sets the speaker down near Frank and jumps up to face him, all her previous apprehension suddenly gone. She abruptly launches into an elaborate story featuring how much his band had helped her through life and when her work was overwhelming. Of course, Frank found it endearing. How could he not? Someone had been touched by his music, which was what he’d wanted from the start.

There’s an ear-splitting shriek that sounds an awful lot like the feedback you’d receive from a microphone.

“Sorry about that!” a voice in the distance yells. It’s the waiter.

The waiter waddles back through the onslaught of people glowering at him over to his boss. A thick long black cord dangles from his hand, a microphone with a stand in the other. So it _was_ feedback. He props the stand next to Frank and adjusts it so his voice would reach the microphone without it being to deafening. He offers a selection of jacks to Frank, who plucks a glossy silver one an begins to hook Pansy to the speaker.

Entering a jack into Pansy had always felt so intimate. It was something that couldn’t be achieved in any other fashion. This is something that Frank took time in. But not with people around. He rammed in the jack and internally apologized twenty times before plucking a few test notes. The simple melody echoed through the hall with a booming thrum, sending all conversation to a hush.

There weren’t any odd sounds coming through the speaker or any crackling that could signal a faulty jack, so Frank sent Sarah off with a reassuring grin and leaned into the microphone.

“How are you all doing tonight?”

A couple of people, Frank noticed they were considerably less well-dressed than many of the people dining, hollered a response.

“Good, it would be a shame to be in such a nice place with a bad attitude,” he chuckles, scrunching his nose. “I’d guess a lot of you people are here on dates?” he asked with a hint of suggestiveness in his tone.

This gets a better response. Couples hold hands if they weren’t before, others give one another an affectionate peck on the cheek. “Well, I happen to be here on a bit of a date, myself.”

The room has gotten considerably less tense so a few people whistle while others shout a demand to see the lucky date. “Oh, but you do see them,” he laughs, giving a light squeeze to Pansy, who he feels vibrating in anticipation. “I’ll show you after the song,” Frank promises. “Then I’ve got to go and you have to eat, this place runs on a schedule.”

There was probably a response to this, but Frank turned his focus to Pansy, sitting obediently in his lap. It wasn’t as though the two never done a show as relaxed as this, it’s that the energy on these shows could be so heavy and lustful. It was hard not to look at Pansy with Frank’s kind of emotion. You could compare it to a couple and their wedding song, that was how Frank saw it anyway. In a way, every song was like a wedding song.

“This one is called The Secret Goldfish. It’s from a band I used to be in,” he laughs softly, remembering how his life was before My Chemical Romance took off. “Anyway, just relax and enjoy. I’m not getting paid for this, so you better,” he adds.

 _“I can't close my eyes,”_ he starts.

 _“I can't shut my eyes to you… I can't close my eyes.”_ Thoughts of Pansy filled his head. He left his palm rub against their neck a bit more and he normally would.

 _“I won't shed a tear for you this time.”_ The first time he’d broken a string.

 _“No matter how hard I try, I break all the ties, but heartbreak is forever.”_ The first month he’d gotten them, he’d returned Pansy, angry that the sound wasn’t what he’d wanted.

 _“Land of the lost, I found myself in nothing. This time promises broken find me, clutching to you for something.”_ There was no time for him to search again, he had to take Pansy back.

 _“Something that you're not. Believing in what you say.”_ Everyone had told Frank that Pansy was one of the best guitars he’d owned, so he’d been pushed to take them out and play.

_“It makes me lie awake at night. The truth, the truth is not what scares me; it's why you have to lie all the time.”_

_“I can't close my eyes. I can't shut my eyes to you. I can't close my eyes. I won't shed a tear for you. I can't close my eyes. I can't shut my eyes to you. I can't close my eyes. I won't shed a tear.”_ It was the very first show he ever did. It was like magic. He still tried to convince himself it was a hoax, but it wasn’t. It was too real to be.

“ _Heartbreak is forever. I found myself with nothing to believe in. This time promises broken find me.…”_ he finishes, eyes locked onto the scratched stickers on his beloved.

He ignored the clapping as he stood up. He ignored the well-done pat on the back from Sarah and he unhooked Pansy. He ignored the waiter handing him a to-go box filled with his meal as he walked to the exit. He ignored everyone; everyone except Pansy. They seemed to have absorbed all the attention he could possibly spare and keep it trapped onto them.

Frank could hardly remember even getting into the taxi. He couldn’t even remember waving it over to him. He didn’t remember paying for it. Yet, when the car pulled to a stop, he left without a word or a protest.

It was the final destination of tonight.

Central Park.

Frank’s legs ached and his stomach churned. Pansy slapped against him as he walked up a particularly steep hill with soft pats. He suddenly stopped in his tracks and slapped his hands on his ass, feeling a flood of relief when he felt what he’d been looking for. If it had gotten lost… this whole night would’ve been a waste. He knew he shouldn’t have done this on an empty stomach, yet here he was, nearing the bench far too quickly for his liking. But not quick enough.

The moon shone brightly above them. The worn wood of the bench glimmered with an old polish to it, making it perfect. He sat Pansy down in the groove of the seat so they could support themselves without him hold them.

“Pansy, you’ve been such a big part of my life. I know it seems like we barely know each other, but it’s not like that to me. No one would approve of us. I know that, but you need to give this a chance…”

Frank slowly lowers himself to rest on one knee in front of Pansy. Pansy’s body gleamed under the moonlight and left the letters at their base shimmering in a metallic rainbow.

He shakily reached into his back pocket and pull out the special piece he’d bought especially for this night. A sleek black capo rested in his palm, to which he presented to Pansy.

“Pansy… Pansy will you marry me?” he breathes, not daring to look at his lover’s reaction.

“ _Are you fucking kidding me right now?!_ ”

Frank’s head shoots up and his eyes grow wide. Ray stands in a crowd of bushes with two pairs of arms attempting to pull him back down into whatever hiding spot he’d appeared from.

“What the fuck are you guys doing?!” Frank demands, shoving the tool back into his pockets and protectively putting his arm in front of Pansy.

This sends Mikey and Gerard to pop up like the bad guys in a terribly animated game. All three of them have leaves in their hair and dirt on their faces, matching nicely with the equally smudged up clothes they’d been wearing.

Mikey pushes up his glasses and steps out of the garden area and onto the paved pathway. “No, Frank, I think _we_ should be asking what the fuck _you’re_ doing.”

**Author's Note:**

> I love crack fics.


End file.
